On the Veranda
by MaraSil
Summary: Maria runs into the Captain unexpectedly on the veranda. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**On the Veranda**

This was written for the Alphabet Challenge (V is for Veranda) at **A Note to Follow So** Forum. Be advised that it's a bit OOC, and you'll have to search mightily if you want to find any semblance of a plot. My only excuse is that I'm still recovering from Forbidden Thoughts. If you can get past all of that, then enjoy!

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Maria walked out onto the veranda, wringing the washcloth she'd soaked in cold water. The house was stifling hot and she hoped to catch a cool breeze, even if it was just for a moment. But the air was still, heavy with oppressive humidity. She was nearly drenched in sweat and her breath was quick and shallow. She hated feeling so sticky and she hated how her dress clung to her body. She tried to loosen it, but the fabric only resettled on her, her skin instantly suctioning it back into place.

Sighing heavily, she wiped her forehead and neck with the washcloth, trying to cool down her body, seeking some relief from the excessive heat. She pulled the neckline of her dress away from her chest and pushed the washcloth down between her breasts.

The strangled sound caught her so off guard, she couldn't move. _It couldn't be, please, please don't let it be him._

Almost against her will, she turned her head. The Captain stood just a few feet away in the corner of the veranda, leaning against the railing, an almost empty glass of pink lemonade in his hand. She stared at the glass and could swear she could see the ice melting in the intense heat of the day. No, in the intense heat that radiated off of him. She could feel it from where she stood.

She followed the glass as he brought it up to his mouth and he swallowed the remaining liquid in one long gulp. She swallowed at the same time, but there was no cool liquid to quench her sudden growing thirst.

She looked the rest of the way up into his eyes. The lemonade may have cooled his throat, but it had done nothing about the heat in his eyes. She stopped breathing as he held her gaze, and she felt the first stirrings in her stomach. He put the glass down and pushed away from the railing. He started walking toward her, slowly, lithely, sensually. She felt paralyzed as he approached. She could only stand there watching him come closer. She tried to remember how to breathe.

He finally stopped when he was standing only inches in front of her. She had been right; the heat radiating from him was unmistakable. And now it was intermingling with hers.

He finally looked down from her eyes, and she was able to breathe again. She tried not to make a sound; she was only just able to stop herself from gasping for air. But the effort was a mistake, because it only brought his attention down to her heaving chest, and it was only then that she remembered the washcloth still stuffed down the front of her dress.

He startled her when he reached a hand up toward her chest. She leaned back, about to step away, about to _run_ away when he brought his eyes back up to hers and held her again with a look. A look that said _stay_.

She held still as he reached for the top of the washcloth and slowly pulled it out from under her dress. It tickled her skin as it brushed up against her breasts and, despite the heat, she couldn't stop the shiver that passed through her at the thought of his hands replacing the washcloth on her skin, tracing the same path.

He crumpled the washcloth in his hands.

"It's gone dry. Would you like me to wet it for you?" His voice was soft, teasing.

"N...no, thank you. I…I should go back inside." She hated that she was stammering, that her voice was so thin. But he had taken too much of her breath away. And there something stirring inside of her, much lower than her stomach now.

He handed her the washcloth. She took it, her hand shaking slightly. She hoped he had not noticed, but the corner of his mouth curled up and she knew that he had.

"You should look around the next time you come out on the veranda. You never know what you might find. Or who."

He took a few steps back from her, then turned and walked toward the back door. Before going inside, he turned back to her.

"Next time, I'll bring the washcloth." He winked, gave her that half smile again, and walked into the house.

She lunged for the nearest chair and sat down before her knees gave out.

There could not be a next time. She promised herself that she would avoid the veranda at all costs unless she knew for certain that he was not there. She swore it to herself, knowing how dangerous it would be to risk running into him again, alone, on this veranda.

She looked at the back door that the Captain had left open, like an invitation.

She couldn't. She wouldn't. She closed her eyes and repeated the words to herself over and over until she was convinced that they were true. When she opened her eyes, she looked toward the door. Despite all of her efforts, the only thought running through her mind was that it was still open.

* * * * *

Maria stood just inside the back door with her hand on the doorknob, hesitating.

She told herself there was no reason to be afraid. She had seen the Captain go upstairs, retiring early for the evening. She had put the children to bed and retired to her bedroom as well, but it had been unbearably hot in the room. Even with all of the windows open, there was no cross ventilation, and the stuffy atmosphere had made her feel almost claustrophobic. The heat wave was well into its third day with no end in sight. She had decided to take her chances on the veranda, reminding herself that the Captain would not be there.

Her palms were sweating. What if she was wrong? What if he had come back downstairs, just as she had? What if he was on the veranda right now when she walked out there? After what he had said to her yesterday just before going back inside the house, he would think… he would think…

She was being foolish. His behavior throughout the day had proven that she had nothing to worry about. In fact, she had started to wonder if she had imagined the whole thing. The Captain's behavior toward her had been perfectly normal. He had neither sought her out nor avoided her. Not once had he said or done anything that might hint at anything unusual between them. He had been his usual self – disciplined, strong, confident, stern though not cruel, occasionally sardonic. He was the same Captain she had met just a few weeks ago.

Could she have imagined it? No, despite the apparent evidence of the day, she knew she had not imagined it. But perhaps he had decided to forget what appeared to be a moment of temporary insanity. Who knew why it had happened? Everyone was allowed an uncharacteristic moment. She had certainly had her fair share. It did not have to define anything, change anything.

It must have been the heat, she decided. The heat made people do strange things.

It must be the heat that made her continue to replay those moments on the veranda over and over again, unable to shut them out except when surrounded by the children who demanded her full attention. It must be the heat that made her remember every detail of what had happened with maddeningly vivid clarity. It must be the heat that was making her sweat, that was making her feel so restless, as if she was about to jump out of her skin.

She told herself to relax. She reminded herself that not once had he looked at her with anything resembling what she had seen in his eyes the day before. Not once had he spoken to her with that teasing tone in his voice. She should feel relieved. She _was_ relieved.

Her palms were still sweating.

She offered up a quick prayer, took a deep breath, and stepped out onto the veranda.

He was not there. She looked toward every corner, a part of her somehow believing him capable of blending into the darkness so thoroughly that he might not be visible to her. She rolled her eyes, realizing how ridiculous she was being. She should follow the Captain's example and forget that anything had happened. Trying to recover her confidence and courage, she left the safety of the house and walked out toward the far railing. She rested her hands on it and looked out at the night.

It was not much cooler outside, but at least it felt more open. She did not feel as trapped when she was able see the broad expanse of the starlit sky. The shimmer of moonlight on the gently stirring lake water was mesmerizing. It was quiet, as though every living creature had gone to sleep, resting in the calm of night. There seemed to be no end to the beauty around her.

She wondered what it would feel like to float among the stars. They seemed to stretch out into infinity. Would she float forever, never coming close to another object, or would she find something new, something undiscovered, something wonderful?

"Exquisite, isn't it?"

Good God in heaven, where had he come from? How on earth had he snuck up on her so quickly? She could hear him walking toward her now, but she did not let herself turn to look at him. She was too busy trying to loosen her death grip on the railing. _Just breathe, Maria._

He slipped in close beside her and set a glass of ice water on the railing. He must have come downstairs to get something cold to drink and seen her on the veranda.

She still refused to look at him. She was afraid of what she might see, not at all certain if it would be the Captain she had seen all day or the one she had glimpsed yesterday. Even more frightening was the fact that she could not decide which one she wanted to see.

"I love this house, the grounds. I can't imagine any place else feeling like home. It's beautiful during the day, but at night… at night it's transformed. I don't come out here often enough."

He spoke softly, as though sharing something close to him, something private. It completely disarmed her, and she turned to look at him. He was staring straight ahead, a smile on his lips. She had never seen him so at ease, his face so relaxed. It felt as if he was revealing a side of himself that he usually kept hidden. He looked younger, less guarded. He looked...

He looked devastatingly handsome. She already knew it would be yet another image of him that she would have trouble exorcising from her mind. He turned to look at her and saw her watching him. When she saw the glint in his eyes, she knew she was in trouble. The half smile threw her into a near panic.

"You like it here on the veranda, don't you?" There was the teasing, seductive tone. The sound of it was almost a caress.

"It was so hot inside, I couldn't breathe. I just came out for some air." Thank goodness she had been able to control the stammer this time. But her voice was breathy; it betrayed too much of what she was feeling.

The smile reached his eyes and it was as if he could see right through her. She felt hot all over. It was a heat unlike the one that had driven her from her bedroom. There was nowhere to go to relieve this heat. But as quickly as she had the thought, she knew it was a lie. There was one place she could go to find relief. There was one person she could go to. But that was unthinkable.

"You do look rather warm. Perhaps I can help you."

_Oh God oh God oh God oh God. _She would have gone back inside the house but she could not remember how to move her legs. He picked up the glass of ice water with his left hand, and wiped the condensation from the glass with the fingers of his right.

"I must apologize for forgetting the washcloth. I hope you don't mind. My hand will have to do."

_Did he… was he really going to…_ Her heart was pounding in her chest. _Surely he did not mean to…_

He touched his fingers to her forehead and, pushing aside her hair, spread the cold drops of water across it. A bit of water dripped down the side of her face. He traced it with a finger and reached around to the back of her neck. His fingers were cold but already they were warming from the heat of her skin. She shivered as a drop of water slid down her back.

"Let's see… you wiped your forehead, then your neck. And then…"

_He could not possibly be thinking… _She had not thought it possible for her heart to beat any faster.

He traced the collar of her dress, starting at the back of her neck. He kept his eyes on hers as he reached the front of her collar and tugged gently.

The sound that came from the back of her throat seemed loud in the silence of the night. She had never made a sound like that before. She had never felt like this before. What was he doing to her? Why did it seem as if she could already feel his hands on her? Why did it feel like something was squeezing inside of her, where she had never felt it before?

She knew why. And she knew she had to stop him.

"Captain, please…" Her voice shook. She pulled his hand away from her chest. He offered no resistance.

He stepped away from her, just as he had the day before, and bowed to her.

"You may be the most extraordinary governess to have ever graced us, capable even of walking on water as far as the children are concerned. But you're a woman, just as human as I am. We both need…" He paused for a long moment, looking intently at her. Then he shook his head and smiled. A sad smile.

"Perhaps, someday, it might be possible to meet on this veranda under different circumstances. I do hope so." He reached out as if to touch her one more time, but he stopped short of her and dropped his hand to his side.

"Don't stay out too late. You need your rest. Goodnight, Fraulein."

"Goodnight, Captain." She may have said it out loud. She could not be sure.

He went back inside the house.

"_Perhaps, someday, it might be possible to meet on this veranda under different circumstances. I do hope so."_

God help her, she hoped so too.


	2. Chapter 2

**On The Veranda – Part 2**

A/N: I've decided to continue this as a series of snapshots on the veranda. I hope it works for you. You won't find "different circumstances" in this chapter, but we'll get there, I promise. :)

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Maria walked out onto the veranda into the predawn darkness that seemed to swallow the night. She blinked a few times, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the absence of light, then made her way carefully to the steps and sat down. An intermittent breeze made her shiver and she wrapped her arms around herself. It had rained during the night; the heat wave had finally broken, leaving behind an unexpected chill. A damp earthy smell lingered long after the cooling rain had ceased to fall.

The thunderstorm had awakened her out of a fitful sleep marked by vaguely disturbing dreams that she couldn't quite recall, and she had been unable to fall back asleep. At first, she had stayed awake, half expecting the children to burst into her bedroom, although they had not done so since her first evening in the house.

She regretted that they had not; she could have used the distraction. As it was, she had lain awake thinking about how the Captain had entered her room that first night, and how there was no reason for him to enter it during tonight's storm. No honorable reason. Even so, she had been unable to stop looking toward the door, listening for the sound of the doorknob turning, waiting for the door to open, waiting for _him_ to step inside.

And what then? She had tried not to think about it, but that hadn't stopped her breath from quickening or the heat from spreading throughout her body. After enduring what seemed like hours of mental warfare and increasing physical discomfort, she had finally slid out from under the sheets that had begun to feel rough against her overly sensitive skin. She had gotten up, dressed quickly, and gone outside to watch the sunrise. It was a feeble attempt to dam the flow of her thoughts.

As she sat now in the quiet darkness, breathing in the damp air, she wondered how it was possible that those two encounters on the veranda had affected her to such an extent. She had never, _ever_, considered entertaining such thoughts before. She felt completely unhinged. Who was this person, this wanton woman, who had come to live inside her, to possess her? This could not be who she was.

Or could it? If she were honest with herself, she had to admit that her feelings for the Captain had been changing and growing for weeks. Seeing him with the Baroness had made her look at him differently. She had begun to see him as more than a naval Captain or a father or an employer. She had begun to see him as what he was first and foremost; she had begun to see him as a man. Certainly it was the man in all of his sensual masculine virility that she had encountered on the veranda twice now.

Four days. It had been four days since the Captain had withdrawn from her on the veranda. In the time since, he had refrained from approaching her when she was alone. He had once again reverted to being the stern Captain he had been the day they had met, although she was gratified to see that his softening toward the children continued. The Baroness had returned to her home in Vienna, ending her visit unexpectedly. No announcements had been made, but Maria was certain that it was only a matter of time before the Captain would be off to visit her. Things were back to the way they should be.

She could almost pretend that nothing had happened. Almost. Except that, even though she never caught him doing it, she could feel him watching her all the time. And whenever she felt his eyes on her, it would all come rushing back: the intimate tone of his voice; the cold water dripping down her back; the feel of his hand tugging on her collar; the way he had looked at her, waiting for her to invite him to do more; the knowledge that, even though she had stopped him, she had wanted him to do more. The onslaught of memories left her feeling flustered and anxious. And something more than anxious.

It had been almost a relief when things had changed yesterday. _He_ had changed. He had received a telegram just before lunch and had been short tempered for the rest of the day. He had snapped at her more than once. It seemed to be one complaint and thinly veiled accusation after another, always directed at her: the children were talking too loudly; they were spending too much time playing; they did not have enough structure.

She had finally lost her temper, firing back that the children were just getting used to being allowed to behave like children again. She would not turn back on that now and had told him so in no uncertain terms. They had argued for the first time since the day she had fallen in the lake. He had been silently livid, seething with restrained anger. She had thought he would dismiss her, as he had that day. But instead, he had stopped arguing abruptly, turned on his heel, and marched stiffly out of the room.

Before their first meeting on the veranda this week, she would have said she understood the Captain fairly well for the amount of time she had known him. Since that day, however, it had become harder and harder to understand this mercurial man who provoked some of the strongest emotions she had ever felt. He challenged her in every way possible. It should have become tiresome by now. Instead, he stimulated and thrilled her in a way no one ever had before.

She felt certain that he would make someone very happy, someone who would fit into his life smoothly and seamlessly. She would complete his life, as he would complete hers. That woman would understand him and make him happy. It just wouldn't be her.

The stab of pain at the thought took her by surprise. She hadn't realized how much she wanted to be that woman.

She paused, her turbulent thoughts becoming too much for her, and looked out toward the horizon. There was still no sign of the sun rising; it was earlier than she'd thought. But she felt the dawn approaching in the stillness of the night; it would not be long now.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head, trying to find peace in the familiarity of prayer. She began silently intoning the words of the _Pater Noster_, but the comfort she normally found in them eluded her. The image of the Captain's face kept intruding. It did not seem to matter that it was unbidden; he appeared all the same. Unable to focus her mind on structured prayer, she let the words form freely instead, and prayed from her heart.

_Take this from me, Lord. If this isn't your will, take it from me. Please. I have tried, but I can't stop thinking about him. I can't stop feeling whatever this is I'm feeling. I can't let it go. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Please help me. Please._

The words were simple and inadequate, but they were honest and they were all she had. As she had done so many times before when she had felt lost, she surrendered the chaos she was feeling and put it in the Lord's hands. She trusted that he would know what to do with it.

When she opened her eyes, she saw the barest hint of light in the sky, gray replacing black. The sun was just beginning to rise.

The sound of light footsteps approaching should not have surprised her. She felt her chest tighten. Of course he would find her here again. Of course he would. How was he always able to sense when she was on the veranda? _Lord, are you trying to kill me?_

The Captain joined her on the steps and sat down next to her, saying nothing. He did not even look at her. He looked out toward the horizon, and after a moment, she relaxed enough to watch the sunrise.

She had always risen early, even as a young child, and had often stopped whatever she was doing to watch the sunrise. At the Abbey, the nuns rose early for Lauds. She loved the Morning Prayer that prepared them for the rest of the day, but she missed the joy she felt when she greeted the day under an open sky. Being able to do so again was one of the many unexpected gifts she had received after she had reluctantly left the Abbey.

Clouds hung low in the sky, still heavy after the thunderstorm. The reds and pinks and oranges and yellows painted the underside of the clouds, somehow lightening their load, seeming to lift the darkness above, forcing the midnight blue higher and higher. The shadows intensified, heightening the power of the emerging light. It was God's canvas, a majestic display of creation. She waited for the rays of light to shoot through the clouds and squinted against the sudden brightness as the sun broke through.

"'_And lo! in a flash of crimson splendor, with blazing scarlet clouds running before his chariot, and heralding his majestic approach, God's sun rises upon the world.'_"

He spoke just above a whisper, seemingly reluctant to mar the sacredness of the moment. She didn't recognize the quote, but it spoke so eloquently to what they had just witnessed.

"It's Shakespeare, from _Titus Andronicus_. I read it years ago and have never forgotten how perfectly it describes the sunrise. I recalled it often during my service when I was deployed. I used to love sunrise at sea, especially after a storm."

With those few words, some of her confusion seemed to clear. This was _her_ Captain. This was the side of him she had glimpsed when he had spoken of his love for his home. This was the side that he kept hidden from almost everyone else but seemed willing to reveal to her. This was the side that balanced the rest of him, all of which had its own appeal for her. This was the side that melted her reserve. He seemed all too human and approachable when he was like this.

She wanted to offer him something in return for his openness. She wanted to share something that expressed how she felt being out here at daybreak.

"'…_in quibis visitavit nos, oriens ex alto: Iluminare his qui in tenebris et in umbra mortis sedent: ad dirigendos pedes nostros in viam pacis.'_"

He smiled, somehow understanding and accepting the gesture she was making.

"'…_whereby the dayspring from on high hath visited us, to give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet in the way of peace.'_ It's from the Canticle of Zechariah, from the Gospel of Luke. We pray it every morning at the Abbey. Did you imagine yourself to be the only one capable of quoting great authors? I think my source may just surpass yours."

Just minutes ago, she would not have believed she could feel comfortable enough to tease him, but it seemed so easy now, so natural. He laughed softly and turned to look at her for the first time since he had sat down. The warmth of his smile reached all the way to his eyes, and she smiled back at him, wondering what it would be like to have this every day.

"Thank you. I needed that. I needed a morning like this. I've been in a foul mood, as I'm sure you've noticed. I was much too harsh with you yesterday. It wasn't you I was angry with, and it was inexcusable of me to take my anger out on you. I'm sorry."

Apologies from the Captain were rare; it made her value this one all the more. She nodded once, accepting the apology but not wanting to dwell on it unnecessarily.

She was happy just to be sitting next to him. She would worry later about how attached she was becoming, but for now, it was enough just to be here with him, watching as the world came to life. They sat in a comfortable silence until the stiffening breeze made her shiver.

"Are you cold?"

"Just a little. I'm fine."

Before she knew it, he was removing his jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders.

He was so close. She was practically in his embrace, he was so close. She could feel the heat from his body, he was so close. His breath ruffled the hair on her forehead.

He had been paying attention to positioning the jacket on her shoulders, but now he looked straight at her, and her breath caught in her chest when she saw the expression in his eyes change so so quickly from concern to hunger. One look, and already she could feel her body tightening in anticipation of what he might do. In anticipation of what she _wanted_ him to do.

She couldn't let herself think about what she wanted. But she couldn't stop herself from feeling it.

He did nothing at first, just continuing to stare at her, until she thought she might scream. Then he began rubbing his hands up and down her arms, stroking her back, never once breaking eye contact, and she bit her lip to hold back not a scream, but some baser sound that threatened to tear itself free.

Another shiver wracked her body, only this one had nothing to do with the chill in the air, and he knew it. She could tell by the way his lips curled into that deadly half smile that she now associated with this… mood, the one that made her want to forget everything. Everything but him.

"Are you feeling warmer now?" She felt his words brush her lips. His voice caressed her skin, making it hotter.

Warmer. Yes, she was definitely feeling warmer. She was burning.

"Yes, quite warm, thank you." She could barely manage a whisper, could barely hear the sound of her own voice.

He glanced down at her mouth while she spoke and continued to stare at it after she'd stopped speaking. It was obvious to her what he was thinking. She waited, unable to move. She didn't want to move.

He looked back up into her eyes.

"I've been meaning to ask you… how did you get this scar?" He indicated the faded scar just below her left ear.

His question was the last thing she'd expected. She was slow to respond, her mind struggling to catch up to the dizzying change in direction.

"It was a childhood accident. I was chasing a boy..."

"Lucky boy."

He had been staring at her intently, and now he began stroking the scar on her neck. Each stroke of his fingers sent her pulse racing, and she knew he could feel it. She was having trouble thinking straight. She was having trouble remembering who she was.

"Go on, you were chasing a lucky boy…" He followed the prompt with another stroke of his fingers.

"He… he had taken my doll. I wanted it back. I chased him, but he turned back suddenly and swung the doll at me. A jagged edge caught me right there."

"Right here?" Another stroke of his fingers, this one skimming the surface, tickling her skin. Tickling a lot more than just her skin.

_She couldn't… she had to… she was… _

"Yes." Something in him drew the word from her, something she was finding it nearly impossible to resist.

"Do you have any other scars? Anywhere?" His gaze took in the length of her body before returning to her eyes. "Anywhere at all?" he asked, with another stroke to the scar on her neck.

She felt her stomach clench at what she saw in his eyes.

She thought of the scar above her right shoulder blade, of the small scar on her left hip, and she felt her face burning as she imagined him stroking each one as she told him how she had gotten them.

"You do, don't you? Won't you tell me where?" A final stroke of his fingers. His voice was hushed, scorching.

She was stunned by how much she wanted to tell him, to know what he would do. Would he stroke the scars through the fabric of her dress? Or would he reach under her dress to reach the bare skin that was already tingling, eager for the touch of his hands? She could only imagine how she appeared to him; she knew her emotions were always transparent on her face. He could see. He could see everything.

She stood abruptly, surprising him. She was breathing heavily, trembling. He stood up slowly, still facing her. He made no move to touch her.

"You always know what's best. You're stronger than I am."

_Not so strong, Captain. If you only knew how close I am to being anything but strong…_

"But the next time we meet here, things will be different. I promise you that." He turned and left without saying another word.

She leaned back against the railing, reeling, not at all certain that her legs would hold her up. She gripped the jacket that she still wore around her shoulders. His words echoed loudly in her head.

She knew without a doubt that there could be no next time.

She knew without a doubt that there would be.

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_I'd appreciate feedback of any kind._ :)


	3. Chapter 3

**On The Veranda – Part 3**

A/N: Sorry about the long wait between chapters.

* * * * *

Maria rushed out onto the veranda and nearly stumbled in the dark as she stopped abruptly at the top of the steps. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hardly catch her breath. She couldn't stand still; she was barely able to contain the energy powering through her. She was vibrating with it.

She had been unable to sleep, to shut off her mind as it raced from one thought to another. She had found it impossible to control, let alone stop, the images that flashed in her head, at times moving at lightning speed, at times slowing down to linger on the feel of his hands on her back, on the taste of his lips on hers, on the sound of his voice as he told her he loved her and asked her to marry him. On the sound of her own voice when she had said yes.

It was that last thought above all the others that had, in the end, led her to surrender herself to the memories and mounting anticipation. She had given her yes. In a matter of hours, she would be walking down the aisle, walking toward the man who would be waiting for her at the altar. It was only a matter of hours before she would become the Baroness von Trapp.

It was no wonder she couldn't sleep. She was too happy to sleep. She was too excited. And so she had made her way to the only place she could imagine being when consumed with thoughts of him. She had come to the veranda.

There was too much stirring inside of her, making her want to laugh, sing, fly. She was too restless to sit, but she leaned her hip against the railing at the top of the steps, letting the hard surface dig into her, hoping it would ground her.

She still wondered how it was possible for so much to change in just a few months. Had it all really happened? She had left the Abbey so reluctantly, but determined to make the best of it and prove to the Reverend Mother that she was indeed ready to take her vows and join the other nuns. She could hardly believe that she had found a whole other life, had never guessed that she would be completely captivated by seven children who had needed her, and whom she had she needed just as much.

And she certainly had never imagined that, miracle of miracles, she would fall in love, or that her love would be returned. It was too incredible, to gain so much all at once. It was more than she could have dreamed or asked for; it seemed more than she deserved. But God's providence was like that, always gracing her in such abundance, opening not just one but a thousand windows.

She breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, calming herself down. She repeated the process, closing her eyes and trying to concentrate solely on the way the air entered and left her body. Her heartbeat slowed, but her lashes were fluttering and her eyes sprang open, refusing to stay shut. She was too excited to settle down completely.

"I thought I just might find you here."

She grinned, not at all surprised that he had found her on the veranda yet again, and only now admitting to herself that she had hoped he would find her here as he always did. He walked over to her and sat beside her.

"I couldn't sleep. There are too many thoughts in my head."

"I couldn't sleep either. Is there anything I can do to help?" He reached for her hand and held it gently.

She smiled at him, loving the feel of his hand on hers. It still amazed her that something so simple could make her feel so secure.

"You already have," she said, grasping his hand tightly.

After their initial, overwhelmingly intense encounters on the veranda, they had both agreed to take a step back. Neither one had wanted to take risks they might later regret.

They had spent many evenings here, talking late into the night. They had shared much of what was important to each of them; they had laughed often; they had even argued heatedly at times. They had welcomed many days on the veranda, rising early to share the sunrises they both loved. They had grown to know each other, and in the process had fallen more deeply in love. She treasured the time they had spent here. She knew he felt the same.

They sat in silence now, but it was an uneasy silence, not what she had become used to with him. She sensed that there was something he wanted to say.

"Whatever it is, please just tell me."

He squeezed her hand, silently thanking her for the invitation to speak.

"After tomorrow, our lives will never be the same. Everything will change, for both of us, but more so for you."

He was worried about her. He always worried too much, thinking he had to control everything, but she couldn't bring herself to fault him for it. Sometimes she thought he needed her reassurance more than she needed his. If that was the case, she was only too happy to provide it.

"I've been thinking about that. It's one of the reasons I couldn't sleep tonight and came out here."

He looked at her, the furrows in his brow deepening.

"I don't think I've ever wanted anything as much as I want to be your wife, and to be a mother to the children." She looked at him, trying to let him see the truth behind the words. "I'm living the life I was born to live."

He returned her look, searching her eyes until he nodded, apparently having found whatever he needed to see.

"When you came back from the Abbey, I hoped it might have had something to do with me. But you were so distant when you returned."

She remembered that day vividly. When she had returned from the Abbey, it had been with the intention to explore what she was feeling for him. She had abandoned that intention almost immediately when faced with what appeared to be a firm commitment between him and the Baroness. She had been forced to hide her disappointment, forced to hide all of her feelings for him.

"Well, there was the Baroness."

"Yes, the Baroness. You know, once you returned, I knew I had to face the truth. I knew I couldn't let you leave again, at least not without telling you how I felt. And that meant being honest with Elsa, and with myself. We spoke that very evening."

"That's why she left so suddenly." He had hinted at what had happened, and she had pieced together the rest, but they had never discussed it. How strange that they had avoided the subject until now.

"But I still didn't know how to approach you, when you were so distant. You seemed not to care for me at all. Then, of course, you walked out onto the veranda that day, wiping yourself with that washcloth. It was the most sensual thing I'd ever seen. I couldn't resist you after that. Certainly not after the way you responded to me."

It was another day that was burned into her memory. She remembered the way he had made her feel, the sensations he had awakened in her that went far beyond anything she had ever imagined. She lowered her eyes as she felt her cheeks burning at the memory of him pulling the washcloth from between her breasts. The memory that always accompanied that one, of him tugging on her collar, when she felt sure he would have reached inside her dress if she had allowed it… that memory always made her pulse jump, made her need to move to relieve the intense throbbing pressure she felt growing…

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his eyes sharp, penetrating.

He might be able to see that she was blushing, but he couldn't possibly know what she was thinking, or worse, what she was feeling. She hoped not, anyway. She tried to think of a response to his question without lying to him.

"I…" What could she say? She fell silent, hoping he would drop the subject. She should have known better.

"Tell me, how did _you_ feel at that first encounter?"

He was much too perceptive. How did he know? She couldn't bring herself to reply, not when he was so close to the truth.

"Wait, let me guess. Did you feel… warm?"

She refused to look at him. She knew she would see that teasing look in his eyes, and it would only make her more self-conscious. And _warm_. The man was incorrigible.

"Well, I can see that I'll have to do something else to get a response from you."

She looked at him then, her curiosity at what he had in mind momentarily overcoming her embarrassment.

He winked at her, stood, and began pacing in front of her, hands clasped behind his back, affecting a stern, sober look.

"Stand up. Turn around, please."

She remembered instantly the first time he had directed those words at her as he had paced around her. How different things had been then. Delighted at his playfulness, and relieved at the change in topic, she feigned a look of confusion and mild indignation and followed his lead.

"What?!"

"Turn." She stood and turned around, following the direction of his hand circling in the air, and faced him again, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to smother the unruly, persistent smile that she was struggling to restrain. It was a moment before he spoke again.

"Again. More slowly this time."

The change in the tone of his voice caught her attention, and she looked at him more closely. The playfulness was gone, replaced by an intensity that wiped the smile from her face and made her throat feel dry.

"Please." The deepening sound of his voice rumbled through her, urging her to do what he wanted. She turned slowly.

She knew he was looking at every inch of her, could feel his eyes on her. She had a sudden image of him looking at her this intently, but pictured them wearing far less clothing. Or wearing no clothing at all. She felt the heat rush to her face again, could feel the flush spreading through her, her body giving her away as it always did. She finished her slow turn and faced him again, hoping the darkness would mask her reaction. She raised her chin, daring him to tease her, ready to reply in kind.

But he wasn't done looking yet. She watched as his eyes took her in slowly, from her feet up to her face, his gaze pausing several times along the way. Again she imagined another setting, imagined him standing much, much closer, close enough for him to touch every part of her where his gaze had lingered. Already she could almost feel his touch, could feel something touching her _everywhere_. By the time his eyes reached hers, she was trembling. And she was certain he was imagining the same things she was. There was no teasing look in his eyes. A muscle twitched in his jaw and she held her breath, waiting, wanting.

"You gave me your word," she reminded him breathlessly.

When he had declared his feelings and asked her to marry him, she had felt even more vulnerable than before, apprehensive about relying solely on her strength of will to continue to pull away from him. Because of their past experiences on the veranda, she had asked him to promise that he would not touch her before they were married. He had agreed. He had kept his word, as he kept it now, but it had been a near thing more than once.

He smiled ruefully. "So I did."

The moment passed, and he resumed his pacing, his next words indicating an attempt at regaining the playfulness that had so quickly turned into something more dangerous. She was relieved. She didn't think she had enough strength left to resist him if he were unable to restrain himself at this point.

"I think that now would be a good time to instruct you on what's expected of you once we're married."

"Please, do tell, Captain. I'm all ears." She played along, but she knew it was all still there, just under the surface, waiting to shatter what was left of her will.

"There are rules that must be followed. The first rule of this house is discipline."

"Yes, I believe you have said that many times, ad nauseam." She choked back a giggle at his impressive look of injured pride. "Are there any other rules of which I should be aware?"

"You will see to it that you conduct yourself with the utmost orderliness and decorum."

"Of course, Captain. Have you ever known me to behave otherwise?"

He chose to respond with a simple raise of an eyebrow and a pompous 'Harrumph.' She nearly laughed aloud.

"Finally, I am placing you in command. Of the household, that is."

"Yes, sir!" She saluted crisply, attempting to look as fearsome as a sea captain.

He laughed, dropped the pretense, and took her hand. In the next moment, faster than she would have believed possible, he was serious again. Not for the first time, she marveled at how quickly his moods changed.

"You are a wondrous delight, my dear. I don't know who I'd be if not for you."

He stepped closer to her, lacing his fingers through hers, and instantly, what had been under the surface, what was always just beneath the surface, flared.

He leaned toward her and kissed her mouth gently, a light touch of his lips. It was a chaste, careful kiss, as all their kisses had been. It was a kiss that left her wanting more. Standing this close together, she could hear how unsteadily he was breathing, could smell his unmistakable scent, could see the desire in his eyes. Standing this close together, her senses were overwhelmed with him, with what he was trying so strenuously not to unleash. It was so difficult to remember why she shouldn't take that one step closer and feel him on her, letting him ease the ache that never went away.

She knew he could see what she was feeling. She couldn't hide from him. He could always see right through her. He kissed her again, another chaste kiss that she felt in her bones.

"I'd almost forgotten. There is one more rule." That tone in his voice, that half whisper, half growl. How was he able to reach so deeply inside her and touch her with it?

"Bedtime is to be strictly observed. I trust you'll have no difficulty observing such simple instructions?"

He was going to drive her mad. How was he able to continue reconstructing an old conversation, turning it upside down, when she was barely able to even breathe?

He kissed her again, chastely. Only it didn't feel chaste at all.

"Now, when I want you, this is what you will hear."

He leaned toward her, about to whisper something in her ear. She didn't know what he was going to say, but she couldn't let herself hear it. She wouldn't be able to stop herself from doing whatever he wanted. She searched desperately for something to say while she could still think.

"Excuse me, sir. I don't know your signal."

She was mortified as soon as the words came out of her mouth. She wanted to blame him, for insisting on reliving this conversation; it had made it impossible for her to think of anything else. But she had chosen the words; part of her, a disturbingly large part, didn't want to put a stop to any of it.

She had startled him, though, enough for him to pull back from her. She saw a rapid fluctuation of emotions run across his face until amusement won out.

"You may call me 'Captain,'" he said finally, that half smile returning, "although you will find that, once you've discovered my signals, I can be quite responsive and adaptable."

He stepped away from her at last. She was grateful that this time he had found the strength to pull away.

"Don't stay out too late. You need your rest."

He grinned at her, knowing full well that she would be unable to sleep at all tonight. She doubted he would be able to sleep either. Not with the anticipation of their wedding. And not after the way he had made sure to leave them both aching with need for each other.

He kissed her hand, a facetious return to his former chaste behavior.

"Until tomorrow," he said, smiling, eyes still dark.

"Until tomorrow," she replied, still in the grip of desire. One more promise to keep.

* * * * *

_And one more chapter to go!_


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